You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Profile for buffet_the_appetite_slayer:
Profile Info:



buffet_the_appetite_slayer



Recent front page messages:


none

Best answers to questions:

» Food sabotage

Pan sabotage
Not strictly food but an item for preparing food.

My dad was a bit of a "see you next Tuesday". I remember one year as a kid he asked my mother what she wanted for her birthday. She jokingly said he might as well get her a new pan so she can cook his pasta in it (as women do).

He took her to her word (as men do) and on the morning of her birthday he presented a pan shaped present wrapped in happy birthday paper (and a thoughtful bow) and all hell broke loose.

He got her something else pretty sharpish but it was never forgotten (you know women and that)

Years later it turned out he hadn't just bought her a new pan after all, he had bought her a set of pans. Six in total, each slightly smaller than the next - they stacked into each other.

Eventually she calmed down and the time came for us to chuck the old pan (loose handle) and use "The new pan" instead.

Dad took great pride in saying it was a useful present after all and despatched the old one with the wonky handle to the bin. I think she might have taken a swing at him with it at some time during the proceedings.

Of course after two weeks "the new pan" was substituted (in the dead of night) for the next size down by my dad who had hidden the set in the loft.

Two more weeks later and the next smallest pan was taken down from the loft and replaced the previous. 3 months later she was down to the milk pan, insisting all along that it must be the heat shrinking the metal.

Of course this became a topic of intense discussion with everyone and anyone she knew even for years after. Quite frankly she's never been the same since (but that's men for you).
(Thu 18th Sep 2008, 21:32, More)

» Utterly Drunk

This is the story of my last drunk
But first a little backgound:

10 years ago I had a good job, people respected me, I earned loads of money, attracted a good woman, we got married and we had kids. We were both heavy drinkers - worked hard, played hard. But she had no trouble stopping when the kids arrived. Given enough reason most people - even the heaviest drinkers - can stop and can control their drinking. My wife could get drunk just like I did but she only did it a couple times a year - christmas , weddings that sort of thing. But eventually there came a time for me when I had to drink every day and I had to drink to pass out every day.

I went to AA in 2002, it was either that or us my wife told me. She rang them up and found out when the meeting was and sent me there. I didn't like it - people where talking about their "feelings" and it was in a church and they were holding hands and praying and I was thinking any minute now the tamborines would come out. I don't talk about my feelings and I don't beleive in God so AA isn't going to work for me. I went back home and told my wife that they'd told me that I wasn't an alcoholic - I was lying. I knew straight away from what they were saying I was an alcoholic. They spelled it out to me. Once I started drinking I couldn't stop and when I managed to stop it would only be a matter of time before I picked up another drink no matter how bad it had been, no matter how strong my resolve. My resolve was not enough and I knew it but I told my wife I was OK and so then I started to drink secretly.

I started to drink in secret a lot of the time. Waiting till everyone was in bed or putting it in my coffee or hiding it in the garage. I was trying to control it - If only I could just drink 2 bottles of wine a night I'd be OK. But of course on top of all the drinks I'd be sneaking during the day 2 bottles of wine would send me into blackout and in blackout I'd go out and get more booze. This went on for years.

My wife couldn't understand how I'd fall down drunk after sharing a bottle of wine with her over dinner. I started to act strange, to her I was turning into a mad man. I remember her telling me she was desparately worried that I'd turn into the kind of man who would kill his wife and children before turning the gun on himself. I terrorised her and my children, eventually I engineered a situation where I would leave and make it look like I was the injured party. It was always everyone else's fault - If you had a life like mine you'd drink - that's how I saw it. The reality was I wanted to leave so that I could drink as much as I wanted and now was my chance.

I lasted 6 months. God knows how but I managed to hold onto my job but I was pretty much drinking 20 hours a day and passed out the other 4. Alcoholism is a progressive disease. It never gets better it always gets worse. The quantities you consume go through the roof no matter what you try to do. This means you end up pretty much in blackout all the time with only brief periods of lucidity. During these brief moments of clarity all you want to do is kill yourself.

After 4 suicide attempts I ended up on a bridge. The highest one around. I was stone cold sober and the most rational thought I had was to jump - I knew I could not go on drinking and I knew that I could not stop and stay stopped. But I didn't have the balls to go through with it. So I did what I always did when I was frightened and anxious and didn't have the courage I went a bought a bottle of vodka. I wasn't surprised how easy it was to get a bottle of vodka at 7:30 on a Monday morning I'd done it a thousand times before.

I was too proud to drink it in the street. It was pride that was killing me really. I would rather off myself than admit I had a problem that I couldn't solve. I had missed a deadline at work and that's why I was going to kill myself. I was willing to scar my kids' lives, leave them without a father and their mother without an income to bring them up because I was too proud to admit I had failed. I had failed to control my drinking I had failed at everything else in life. I was too proud to be seen drinking in the street so I went to my usual drinking establishment - locked inside a toilet cubical at the train station.

It was my intention to down it quickly and then hurry back to the bridge, climb over the railings and just fall into the water. I knew I had 20 minutes or so before it kicked in and I'd blackout at which point I'd fall off, hit the water at about 90 miles an hour, break every bone in my body and drown.

I came to in a small room sat beside two police officers. To this day I have no idea what happened on the bridge. They had been with me for a couple of hours and they would not leave me until I had seen the psychiatrist. I was in hospital. I remember asking them why they were there bothering with the likes of me and they said that they'd rather be here with me than out there chasing some chav in a stolen car because they thought that I might have a chance at rebuilding my life. It was the first time in years that someone had shown an interest in helping me. All my friends and family had lost hope years before.

I saw the psychiatrist and he asked me if I wanted to be sectioned or if I wanted to admit myself voluntarily to the psychiatric ward. I asked him what the difference was and he said about 6 months, so I chose voluntary admittance because I had to be back at work soon bacause they wouldn't be able to cope without me would they?. I was completely off my rocker.

It was a locked ward. They gave me librium to stop the seizures you get from withdrawals and they showed me the same care and love that the policeman did. On the first night I had another moment of clarity, I didn't want to die this time though. I just realised that the game was up and I also realised that I couldn't fight it alone but that didn't matter because it seemed that everything would be ok because other people were willing to help me if only I asked. All my pride had gone, my ego was well and truely deflated but somehow it felt ok even though I was locked up and unable to get any booze. Ordinarily I would have been climbing the walls butinstead some kind of calm descended.

Over the days it became clear to me and the staff that I was not insane I was just an alcoholic. The psychosis was temporary. Alcoholic psychosis is short lived. Take away the alcohol and the psychosis goes. They suggested that I go back to AA. Up until then I hadn't even realised that the problem was my drinking. I went back to AA and since then I have never left.

Just a little less than 3 years ago my lifelong obsession with drink left me and as long as I practice a few simple daily steps I'm pretty certain it won't come back. I now know a new freedom and a new happiness. I don't regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. I comprehend the word serenity and I know peace. That feeling of uselessness and self pity has disappeared. I have lost interest in selfish things and gained interest in other people. Fear of people and of economic insecurity has left me. My whole attitude and outlook on life has changed.

I don't plan on getting uttley drunk ever again because I don't plan on drinking again. For the majority of people, like my wife, alcohol is harmless - they get drunk every once and a while and it's not a problem, it's funny. But if you are an alcoholic of my type some day sooner or later you'll pass over the line of no return and you'll never be able to drink safely again. It suddenly goes from funny ha ha to funny peculiar and eventually it ends up in tradgedy. The only hope you have then is to admit you have a problem and ask for help..... .....and return all the traffic cones of course
.
(Fri 15th Feb 2013, 10:53, More)

» Guilty Laughs

Blasphemy
I'm sorry but I had to laugh at this devine image of our lord jesus



I'm going to hell
(Mon 26th Jul 2010, 20:38, More)

» Babysitters

My Dad, a rifle, a pair of pliers and about 2 pints of blood.
Must have been before I was born my dad was baby sitting my two elder cousins. Not long after sending them upsatirs he heard an almight kfuffle coming from upstairs. Turned out youngest had shot the eldest in the chest with an air rifle.

My dad got a bucket and mop and a pair of pliers. Eventually he managed to pull the .22 cal dart out, stuck a plaster on my cousin, moped up the mess and went back downstairs to watch the telly.

Those were the days.
(Thu 28th Oct 2010, 19:56, More)

» Churches, temples and holy places

I uploaded this image of our lord Jesus to the parish newsletter




I think I'm going to hell
.
(Fri 2nd Sep 2011, 10:49, More)
[read all their answers]